Jekyll and Hyde Side
by laynee
Summary: A new town, a new hunt. Sam meets Matt and they find they have a lot in common, instant friends. The hunt gets more dangerous and Sam is forced to be part of something he never wanted. Sam 15; Dean 19. Hurt/angry Sam, Dean in middle, John trying his best.
1. New

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews.

Sam is15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Sam hated starting a new school, he hated being the new kid. Most of all, he hated lunch on the first day, standing like an idiot looking for a table that he could join. Everyone seemed to fit, to know exactly where they belonged, whether that was good or bad. He longed to fit somewhere outside of his family and family friends.

He sighed and found a mostly empty table towards a back corner. He weaved past groups of friends in conversations that he'd never really be a part of, past couples, girls he'd never date, guys that he'd never be friends with or go to a party with. Dean never had this much trouble at school, he never worried where he'd belong; all the girls loved him and the guys knew better than to cross him. Sam, though, Sam was just a new face with a million secrets behind it, secrets that the general high school population could never know about.

He sat down and glanced at his classmates. Was it even worth learning their names? How long would he be there anyway, a week, two months, until the end of the year? He hated all of it, but it was a long buried and burned out hate, it wasn't even worth thinking about any more. He almost envied Dean, finally free of high school, though Sam was beginning to think that being his dad's new side-kick in the fight against evil wasn't the path he wanted to be on after graduation.

To Sam's surprise, a boy sat down across from him. "Is this seat taken?"

"No."

The boy was fifteen, like Sam. Lean and dark eyed and black haired. He wore jeans and a sweatshirt, like most of the boys.

He smiled. "I'm Matt."

"Sam." Maybe he didn't hate everything as much as he thought.

"First day, huh?" Matt took a bite of his hamburger. "I hate first days."

"Me too."

"I moved here a few months ago, I guess I haven't found a place to fit yet." He shrugged.

Sam paused and almost wondered if Matt could read his thoughts, even though it was impossible. He scooped up catsup with a few soggy fries and glanced around.

"Ignore most of them." Matt muttered. "No different from the brainless peons of every other high school." He looked up at Sam. "I bet people always want to call you Sammy."

Sam smiled, the first real smile in weeks. "Only my older brother, no matter how many death threats to get him to stop."

"My older sister calls me Matty, my mom too." He laughed slightly. "Don't think they'll ever stop."

"Probably not." Sam dropped the fries. "Why'd you move here?"

"Dad got a new job. You?"

Sam smiled. "Same thing. We move a lot."

"Us too." He glanced around. "We have fifteen minutes to the bell, we could leave them and go outside."

"Sure."

Sam and Matt stood and dumped their trays. They slipped out the front doors and sat on one of the picnic tables nearby. A few other students were out there during lunch, at tables or under trees. It was one of the last really nice days in the fall, before the weather turned cool and damp.

Matt pulled a comic book from his backpack, Sam instantly recognized Batman's logo on the dark clouds on the cover. "You read comic books?"

"Some, I don't really have any. They just take up space in boxes."

"It's the one thing I refuse to get left behind." Matt shrugged, he passed it to Sam. "Here."

"Thanks. I'll get it back to you tomorrow."

"Keep it. One new kid to another." He smiled.

"Thanks." Sam looked out over the cars and then down at the cover again.

"You want to come over after school? I mean, you're the first person I've actually talked to, voluntarily." He blushed slightly. "I don't see much point in being social when we'll probably move again."

Sam's smile faded. "I don't think I can, my dad's sort of…well he, we might be sort of busy."

Matt nodded.

"I'm not blowing you off." Sam countered. "It's just, he likes to know where I am, who I'm with."

"I get it, really." Matt looked over, his eyes clear with honesty. "Do you walk home?"

"Yeah." Sam tucked the comic book in his backpack.

"What way?"

"Down seventh."

Matt smiled again. "Me too."

Sam smiled as well. The bell rang and they returned inside with the other students.

The rest of the day passed quickly and Sam was waiting for Matt by the doors. Matt came out after nearly all the other students had left. His hair was messed up and his lip cut. He kept his head down as he walked over to Sam.

"What happened?"

Matt shrugged. "Nothing. Forget it."

"Matt."

He looked up, his eyes hard and angry. "Forget it, Sam. Don't worry, it won't happen again and I trust karma to even things out."

Matt's tone had changed from lunch. He was darker somehow, determined and sure. They walked silently down the sidewalk, and Matt changed back to who he was at lunch.

"Sorry." He looked over at Sam. "I was just mad."

"I've been messed with at school before." He paused. "My dad and brother taught me how to fight pretty well, and my brother's kinda protective of me."

"Maybe I should have you give me some pointers." He laughed a little.

The rest of the walk home was filled with conversations about past high school experiences, the best and the worst. Sam won the 'most schools' and Matt won 'strangest teacher' with his French teacher who had a Dutch accent and a fondness for fire.

It turned out that Matt's house was only a few blocks from Sam's. It was a quaint, blue, two-story house with a white front porch, the sort of place that Sam always wanted.

"Meet me at the corner in the morning?" Matt checked the mailbox by the street.

"See you then."

Matt waved as he walked up his front walk. A woman in jeans and a sweater waved at Sam from the door, for a moment he was jealous of Matt's life, the life that Sam had always wanted because he couldn't remember when he had that life.

Sam turned and continued towards the house that they currently rented. Painted white because it was easy, and converted into two apartments. Sam climbed the back stairs to the top apartment and unlocked the door.

A note sat waiting for him on the counter. 'Sam, pizza in the freezer, put it in at 6:45 for dinner. Me and dad should be home at seven, we're looking into what's been going on here. We'll call if we're late. –Dean'

Sam sat down on the worn couch and pulled on his homework, another thing he hated about first days, jumping in the middle of assignments and being expected to know exactly what was going on. Usually he was ahead and it never too much to get him caught up, but it was still another reminder that he was new. There was an English test on Jekyll and Hyde on Friday, and he was four chapters behind.

He leaned back and opened the book, at least he didn't mind homework. He smiled at the memories of how Dean would bitch about homework, how dad would always convince him to get a 'b' average and how Dean would try so hard to keep it a secret from everyone at school. He said that his reputation didn't include a 3.0.

At six forty-five he put the pizza in the oven. His homework was done and he had nothing but time. He pulled the comic book from his bag and began to read, for once he found himself looking forward to the second day at school.

Dean and John came home right on time, something that only happened when they were researching rather than hunting.

"How was school?" Dean flopped onto the couch next to Sam.

"Good."

"Where'd you get that?" He eyed the comic.

Dean's reputation didn't allow him to like comic books either, but it was something that he and Sam had spent hours reading and he knew them almost as well as Sam did.

"Matt." He carefully returned it to his bag. "Dad, Matt invited me over to his house some day after school. Do you think I could go?"

"Who's Matt?" John smiled a little at Sam finding a friend so quickly, the boy had been angry and withdrawn lately.

"From school, he's in my grade. He lives four block over."

"Just let me know when."

Sam nodded, he knew that really meant 'as long as it doesn't interfere with what we're really doing here, as long as it fits in my schedule and plan.' Sometimes Sam just wanted to run away, sometimes he realized that he hated his dad, but he never told Dean that and he never planned to.


	2. Darker

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Sam and Matt were instant friends, the type of friend that they both had wanted and never found. The weeks that passed made Sam want to relax into a routine, a normal pattern, but he never let himself. The longer that they stayed in a place only meant that they'd be leaving sooner rather than later.

He was at the dinner table with his math homework spread out. His brother and father were gone, getting information. From what Sam had heard and seen, it appeared to be a werewolf or something similar. The attacks always at night, the few people that lived through an encounter had said that some kind of beast or monster was to blame. Sam had seen the tracks, and knew it was something right up the Winchester's ally.

Dean and John came into the room and dropped their bags by the door. Dean's eyes met Sam's for a moment, but Sam didn't know what it meant. John looked over at his youngest, innocently doing his homework.

John sat down next to Sam. "I have to talk to you."

Sam glanced over at Dean as he tried to remember if he had forgotten to do something, or did something wrong. Then he realized that his dad's tone wasn't hard and accusing, it was worried, cautious.

He placed his hand on Sam's arm for a moment. "I want you to be careful, Sam."

"I'm always careful."

"Two boys from your school were killed tonight. Older boys."

Sam looked over at Dean as he stood silent by the door. "How?"

"It looks like a car accident."

Dean scoffed under his breath and John shot him a look.

"You don't think it was." Sam muttered.

"I saw the car, a dent in the side and no other vehicle was in the accident. Something hit that car, pushed it into the trees." John met Sam's eyes. "I need to know if you've heard anything in school, anything from the other kids."

Sam paused to think if he had heard something in the halls. "Well, everyone's talking about whatever it is in the woods, but nobody's said anything specific."

"What have you heard?"

For a second he considered not saying anything, the longer his dad and brother had to look, the longer they could stay; but he knew that more people would be killed and he couldn't live with that. "Well, sort of the stuff we already know. Footprints and trees knocked over. I heard a few people say that the attacks happened on new moons, a few people have said that."

Dean walked over to the table. "Full moons."

"No."

John leaned towards Sam. "You're sure it's new moons?"

He nodded.

"You must have heard it wrong."

Sam slammed his book closed, anger coming so easily the past year. "It's not like I'm not paying attention too. I listen, and you've dragged me along nearly every night his past week."

After a long day struggling through woods, that was not the tone John wanted from his son. "Sam." It was a warning.

He sighed. "I'm going to my room, I have homework to catch up on." He grabbed his books and stormed from the room.

John sighed and leaned back in the chair. "Do you know what's going on with him?" He looked over at Dean.

Dean sat down at the table. "The kid goes from happy to pissed off in two seconds, he's fifteen, dad."

"You were never this much trouble."

Dean bit back a smirk. "Yeah, cause girls and bars since the age of fourteen is every father's dream."

John looked over at Dean and shrugged. "But I understood that." He stood. "I'm going to look into the dates of the attacks."

"I'll go see if Sam's done with his murdering mood." Dean paused. "If you don't hear from me in an hour, call the cops."

John laughed and headed off towards his room. Dean paused at the doorway of his and Sam's room. Sam was on his stomach on the bed, a comic book open. He didn't look over when he heard Dean come in.

"Dad send you?" He spat.

"In case you haven't noticed, this is my room too." Dean smirked, two could play at that game.

Sam glanced over. "Sorry."

The phone rang in the kitchen.

"It's your turn to get it." Dean smiled.

Sam threw a pillow on his way out of the room.

He picked up the phone, they didn't get a lot of calls. "Hello?"

"Is Sam there?" The voice on the other end was scared.

"Matt?"

Matt sighed, relieved. "Hey."

"What's wrong?" Sam could hear Matt's ragged breathing on the other end.

"I think something's wrong. Can you meet me in the park?"

Sam glanced down the hall at the strip of light under his father's bedroom door. "Yeah, I think so."

"Ten minutes?"

"Yeah." He didn't know how he was going to make it.

"Good." Matt hung up the phone before Sam could say anything else.

Sam stood alone in the kitchen. There was no denying the terror in Matt's voice and Sam wasn't about to let his only friend down.

"Who was it?" Dean came up behind his brother.

Sam turned. "Matt, I think something happened."

Dean was instantly serious. "What?"

"He wouldn't say. I told him I'd meet him in the park in ten minutes." Sam stared for the door.

Dean grabbed his shoulder. "Hold it. There's no way dad's going to let you go."

"I wasn't exactly planning on telling him."

"He's gonna kick your ass."

Sam grabbed his sweatshirt. "Not if you cover for me."

"Sam."

Sam glanced down the hall. "Please, Dean."

Dean never could resist Sam when he really needed something. "Fine, but I'm going to the park in an hour and you'd better be there."

He smiled. "Thanks." Sam slipped out into the night.

Sam ran to the park, the night air cold and damp. He thought that he maybe should have grabbed a jacket, but there was no time to go back. When he got to the park he thought that Matt was gone, but then he saw him. Matt was seated under a lamppost, his knees drawn up and his arms tight around them, he looked small and lost. He was in jeans and a tee shirt and he shivered. Sam ran over to him.

"Matt." He knelt down.

Matt looked over at Sam, his eyes wide with fear. "I think there's something wrong with me."

"What?"

He looked away for a moment. "Remember, the first day, when those guys beat me up and I said that I believed karma would take care of it?"

"Yeah." Sam slipped off his sweatshirt and handed it to Matt.

Matt pulled it on with some difficult from how hard he was shaking. "They were the boys killed in the car." He whispered.

Sam's breath caught for a second. "What did you mean, when you said karma would take care of it?"

He shrugged. "When bad stuff happened to me before, something good always happened later. But it's never been like this." He turned to Sam. "I can't remember the last four hours. I woke up here and called you."

Sam hugged his arms close to his chest to stay warm as he sat with Matt on the ground. Matt didn't want to go home, he was scared. His parents were out at a business dinner and his sister was with her boyfriend, he didn't want to be alone. Sam tried to get Matt to tell him more about what happened, but Matt didn't know anything else. He continued to shiver.

A car drove past and slowed. Sam instantly recognized the Impala, but Matt got to his feet, fear peaking again.

Sam grabbed Matt's arm. "It's my brother, it's okay."

Sam froze when John climbed from the driver's side, anger etched into every line of his posture. Dean sat in the passenger seat, his head down.

"Samuel Winchester." John's voice was low.

Sam didn't let go of Matt's arm and felt anger rather than fear. "He needed my help."

John glanced back at the car. "Dean."

Dean was out in an instant, he didn't look at Sam. "Sir?"

"Take Sam's friend to the car so he can get warm."

Matt looked over at Sam who nodded slightly. Dean glanced at his brother as Matt followed him back to the car. Sam then felt the appropriate fear, now that his only witness was gone.

"Tell me what you were thinking?"

"He called me and said he needed help." Sam's voice wavered a little.

"And you didn't tell me." He wasn't yelling, it was always worse when he didn't yell.

"You would have said no. I wasn't about to leave him." Sam tried to pretend that he wasn't terrified.

John grabbed Sam's arm and pulled him close. "There is something out here killing people and I told you to be careful." Sam tried to say something, but John squeezed his arm. "You are going to get into the car. We will drive your friend home and then we will have a long talk. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good." John turned and walked Sam back to the car.

The ride was silent as they drove to Matt's house. The lights were on when John pulled up in front. Matt was still clearly terrified and very pale. John got out of the car and walked Matt up to his front door, his arm around the boy's shoulders. Matt's mom opened the door, relief on her face. She and John spoke for a bit and then John returned to the car. He briefly caught Sam's eyes in the mirror before he pulled away.


	3. Pulling Away

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. (this is my first, angsty, teen sam fic, so if I'm not doing it right, let me know) I also know that there hasn't been a lot of Dean, but that should be chaging within the next chapter or so.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

John pulled up in front of the house and turned off the car. Nobody moved or spoke for several very long minutes. He took the keys out of the ignition and tossed them to Dean.

"We'll be inside, shortly." John's words were clipped.

Dean glanced back at Sam and then left the car. That was Sam's last hope, at least with Dean there'd be a barrier, but now it was just John and Sam.

"Come up front, Sam."

Sam stepped from the car, he thought briefly about running, but that would only make things worse. Going against all his instincts, he climbed in the front seat and closed the door.

John tightened his hands around the steering wheel, his eyes straight ahead. "What did he tell you?"

Sam looked at his lap. "Who?"

"Matt."

He shrugged. "He was scared."

"Why?"

"He knew the boys in the car, they beat him up."

"Does Matt have something to do with this?"

Sam's head shot up. "No."

John looked over at his son. "I need you to tell me as hunter, not as his friend."

Sam set his jaw at the words. "You tell me, you've been doing this longer. I'm sure you know everything now."

"Sam."

"He just needed someone to talk to. You just don't want me to be happy. You never have." He didn't know why he was saying those things, but he couldn't stop.

John's eyes were hard, his voice low. "Don't you dare to presume what I want for you. Do you understand me?"

Sam didn't anwer.

"Samuel."

Sam reached for the door handle, but John engaged the locks.

"Is Matt involved?"

"It doesn't matter what I say. You'll just think I'm wrong, like always."

"Answer the question."

Sam took a breath. "I don't know, because I was there as a friend, not a hunter." He found the lock and bolted from the car.

John watched him run up the stairs. He took a few breaths to calm down before he followed his son inside. Dean was on the couch when John enetered.

Dean stood. "Dad?"

"It's fine, Dean." John went to the kitchen and pulled down the bottle of whisky and a glass. "Go talk to your brother."

"I don't think he'll be too happy with me, either."

John took a drink. "I'm not asking, Dean."

Dean turned and went down the hall. He pushed open the bedroom. Sam was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall and his eyes hard. He didn't say a word as Dean came in.

"Sammy."

"Don't." He spat.

"Sam."

Sam looked away. "You're only here because he made you come in. You would have rather snuck in after I fell asleep."

Dean had to admit, the kid knew him. "He was just worried about you."

Sam fished a silver plated switch knife from his pocket and threw it to the center of the room. "I'm not stupid."

Dean's eyes were on the knife. "Do you think Matt had something to do with this?"

He sighed and then looked at Dean, all the anger gone. "He said that good things happen right after bad things do, karma. He couldn't remember the four hours before he called me. I don't know."

"I had to tell him, Sam." Dean's voice was quiet. Why did doing the right thing make him feel lower than dirt.

Sam's eyes flickered to his brother. "You always did play for his team first." He got up off the bed and left the room.

"Your team's always first, Sammy, always." He said to the empty room around him.

Sam didn't know where to go, the apartment was too small, the walls too confining. He reached for the chain over the door.

"Sam."

He didn't see his dad sitting at the table. He leaned against the door and looked at the warn carpet.

"I caught Dean trying to slip out, he wouldn't have said anything." He was trying to make amends, trying to bring his boy back.

"Right. Funny thing about lies is they only work when the other person involved doesn't tell the truth." He sighed. "So, am I grounded?"

"School, home and with us hunting."

Sam nodded. "If that's what _you _want." He returned to his room before John could say anything else.

Dean looked up as Sam came in. Sam said nothing and got into bed. He rolled towards the wall.

"I'm sorry, Sam." Dean was sincere.

Sam didn't say anything.

In school the next day, Sam wasn't the only one giving the silent treatment. Matt was withdrawn and didn't say a word. Sam tried to talk to him, about anything other than the previous night. If Matt did answer, it was one word, monotone.

Sam cornered Matt at the end of school. "What's going on?"

"Nothing." Matt pushed past him and escaped to the sidewalk.

"Matt." Sam followed. "I can help you."

Matt turned, his eyes flashed. "I don't need help." He walked a little faster.

"You did last night." Matt stopped and Sam caught up to him.

"I never should have sat with you that first day." He muttered and took off at a run.

Sam was left in the middle of the sidewalk. He walked the rest of the way home alone.

If someone had been able to compare Sam and Matt, they would have seen the exact same thing. At school they did their work, sat alone at lunch, went home. At home, they spoke when spoken to, retreated to their room when they could and refused to explain anything.

It had been a month since the car accident, and nearly that long since Sam had had a real conversation with Matt, a conversation like they used to have. Sam lay on his bed, his eyes on the ceiling. Dean and John were at the library, trying to piece it all together. The phone ran and Sam considered just letting it, but then he figured that if it was his dad calling, he'd be in trouble for not answering.

He pushed himself off the bed and went to the kitchen. "Hello?"

"Sam?" Matt's voice came through the other end, scared like that one night.

"Matt. Are you okay?"

"I don't know." His voice broke. "I'm sorry."

"Forget it. Where are you?"

"You know the climbing tree just off the trail in the woods?"

Sam had been there for a class trip for biology, they all had. "Yeah. Where we went that one day in school?"

"Meet me there in an hour." He hung up before Sam could say anything.

Dean and John came in the door, Sam automatically lowered his eyes to the floor, his jaw set.

"Sam, get ready to go tonight." John's voice was neutral.

"Go where?"

"The woods. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Sam looked out the window at the oncoming night and thought that he wouldn't be surprised if it rained. He went to his room and pulled on a sweatshirt and his jacket. He shoved his sliver knife in his pocket and found his boots under his bed. Dean was doing the same thing across the room.

The three were out the door and in the car in ten minutes. Sam slouched in the back seat, his eyes on the darkening trees as they passed.

"Sam, I need your head in this." John's eyes glanced up in the mirror.

"Yes, sir." He met his father's eyes for the first time in nearly a week.

"Good." John continued down the road.

John parked the car just off of a gravel road. It started to sprinkle, it was going to be a wet, cold night. John passed a pistol to Dean who tucked it into the waistband of his jeans.

"Sam, you have a knife on you?"

He nodded.

"Silver?"

He nodded again.

"Good. Let's go, stay close." John led his boys into the woods.

John turned on a flashlight and illuminated a narrow trail. All three were in hunting mode: quiet, focused determined. For a second Sam thought about how he wouldn't be able to meet Matt, maybe it was for the best if they ended their friendship. Sam would only be leaving soon anyway, better to end without being friends at all. He clenched his jaw and focused on the woods again.


	4. Break

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. (this is my first, angsty, teen sam fic, so if I'm not doing it right, let me know) I also know that there hasn't been a lot of Dean, but that should be chaging within the next chapter or so.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

The icy rain fell harder, slowed by the thick leaves overhead, but not enough to make a difference. All three were soaked through and wanted to finish the job and get home. Sam's jaw was set in anger as he silently counted down the minutes in his head, the minutes until he would be late for meeting with Matt.

John glanced back at his boys. Sam looked up at him, the boy's eyes hard and steely. The last few weeks hadn't been easy for John either, he didn't know how to talk to Sam anymore. Everything he said to his son was either responded with anger or indifference. Ever since his son had turned thirteen, they had stopped being able to talk to each other. Two long years with Dean having to be the buffer between them.

Sam stumbled over a rock and caught himself before he fell to the muddy ground. He angrily kicked the rock away and shoved his hands in his pocket. Dean fell back next to his brother.

"You doing okay?" He muttered.

Sam nodded and shivered a little. He almost told Dean about Matt's call, but knew it wouldn't change anything. He pushed under a low branch and jogged a few steps ahead of Dean.

They reached a small trail after thirty minutes of trudging through the forest. Sam glanced down at his watch, two minutes to meet Matt. John stopped and pulled his notes from his pocket. Dean stood close and looked over the documents with John, Sam stood a few feet back and leaned against a tree. His eyes were on the wet ground and his arms folded across his chest.

"Sam."

He looked up at his father.

"You ready?"

He nodded, still refusing to speak to his father.

"Let's go."

Sam pushed away from the tree and fell in step behind his brother and father. He tripped over a root and fell to the ground. He swore under his breath and pushed himself back to his feet. His eyes caught on something crumpled on the ground. His fingers trembled as he realized what he was reaching for. It was the Batman comic that he had seen Matt reading at lunch.

He picked up the sodden pages and carefully straightened them.

"Sam." John called from further down the trail.

Sam ran towards his family, the comic clutched in his hand. He met up with Dean and John where the rail widened out slightly. He realized he was close to the climbing tree and he suddenly knew that he had to meet Matt, it was important. He looked down at the comic in his hands as John and Dean looked over a map in an attempt to plan the best way to find this thing without being ambushed.

Sam took a few steps away, but nobody noticed. He glanced back and then ran into the woods.

"Sam!" He heard John yell, but he didn't slow.

Sam ducked under branches and stumbled over rocks as he sprinted through the forest. He stumbled into the clearing and saw the tree, an ancient oak with thick branches perfectly spaced for climbing.

"Matt?" His voice was drown out by the steady cadence of the rain.

He shivered as he scanned the dark forest for his friend. Sam was about to give up when he caught a dark figured huddled near the base of a tree. He ran towards Matt and knelt at his side. Matt was very pale and his eyes were closed.

"Matt?" Sam gently touched his shoulder.

Matt's eyes slowly opened and he looked over at Sam. "You came."

"Are you okay?"

He shook his head. Sam realized how hard Matt was shivering.

"Let's get you out of here." Sam tried to help Matt to his feet.

"No." He pushed Sam off. "You have to leave me."

"Why?"

"There's something wrong with me." Matt's voice broke. "I – I don't know what's happening."

"I can help you."

Matt looked into Sam's eyes. "Really?"

Sam nodded. "Let's go."

Matt stood with Sam's help. He was weak and could hardly stay on his feet. Sam put his arm under Matt's shoulders and helped him from the clearing.

Matt suddenly stopped and pulled himself away from Sam. "Run."

Sam turned. "What?"

Matt fell to his knees in pain. "You have to run, Sam. Please."

He froze, unsure what to do.

Matt curled in upon himself. "Sam. Help me." He gasped.

Sam took a step forward. Matt suddenly tensed. He yelled in pain and Sam froze. Sam watched as Matt changed. The boy grew more muscular, taller, stronger. There was something almost canine now about his appearance. His teeth sharpened and his fingernails turned to claws.

Sam took a step back and for the first time in years, wished for his dad to come back. Matt shot to his feet, his eyes locked on Sam.

"Matt, please. This isn't you." Sam spoke out of desperation. "I know you, you wouldn't hurt anyone."

Matt was the kid who couldn't hurt anything, even if he wanted to, the kid who noticed things that nobody else did, the kid who nobody noticed. He was no longer that boy. He'd kill his best friend, and that's exactly what he had in mind.

"Matt." The comic fell from his hand.

The beast, Matt, ran his tongue over his fangs and smiled. Sam didn't have time to react before Matt pounced at Sam. He felt claws in his shoulder and the sharp pain of them pulling through his skin.

A gunshot rang through the rain-soaked woods and Matt was gone. Sam pushed himself to his feet and ran in the opposite direction for the cover of the trees. A strong arm grabbed him and he turned to fight.

John pulled his son close. "Sam, are you all right?"

Sam looked up into his father's eyes. "We have to help him."

"We can't."

Sam pushed away. "This is all your fault."

Dean grabbed his brother's arm. "Sammy, are you okay?"

Sam pulled from Dean's grasp and turned back towards the clearing. If John and Dean weren't going to help Matt, then it was all up to Sam.

John was only steps behind his son as they ran into the clearing. The woods were eerily silent other than the steady rain. A low growl broke the silence and John grabbed Sam.

"Dean." John looked over his shoulder at his oldest.

Dean came into the clearing, his gun out.

Matt stepped from a shadow and Sam broke free of his father's grasp.


	5. Fight

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. Just a warning, Sam swears a lot in this (and probably the next chapter). It's that angry 15 year old boy thing.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

The two boys stood feet apart in the clearing, nobody dared move.

"Matt." Sam pleaded, determined to save his friend. "I can help you."

Matt couched, ready to spring. Sam felt the blood run down from the throbbing wound at his shoulder. The pain made him feel like vomiting, but he didn't think about that.

John saw the muscles in Matt's legs tighten and he knew what would come next, but Sam was too close for a clear shot.

"Matt." Sam breathed. "Please."

Matt hit Sam's chest so quickly that nobody saw it coming. Sam was on the ground again with the monster on top of him. A shot rang out and Matt flew off. Sam lay gasping on the ground, the air knocked from his lungs.

John rushed to his boy and pulled him to his feet. "Sam, are you okay?"

Sam turned to where Matt lay at the base of a tree, blood ran down his chest. "I have to help him." He tried to pull away.

John held his boy tight, he could feel Sam's shaking. "Sam."

He turned his eyes to his father, they burned with anger. "Let me go." His voice was even.

"It's not safe." John's words were hard. "Dean."

Dean looked from his father to his brother. It took Sam a few seconds to put it together, long enough for Dean to pull the pistol from his jeans and aim.

"No!" Sam ripped himself from John's grasp and fell to the ground.

Without missing a moment, John grabbed his son before Sam could get hurt again. Sam fought with every ounce of him, he didn't care if he hurt his father, he wanted to hurt his father.

"Let me go! I can help him, he asked me to and I said I would." Sam yelled.

"There's nothing you can do." John's voice was too calm, too even.

"You always lie to me!" His voice broke from anger. "Stop lying! You and Dean have all these little secrets, all these inside stories and jokes. I'm sick of it." He tried to pull away.

John wrapped his arm's around Sam, pinning the boy's arms to his sides. "Sam, stop."

"You never cared!" Sam yelled. "Never fucking cared. I hate you! You could save him, but you're going to let him die. What if that was me? He has a family too, you know. A family that loves him a whole hell of a lot more than he'd get in this one!" Sam winced as the pain in his shoulder sharpened. "Let me go, you mother fucking bastard! Let me go."

Dean stood a few feet from his family. He had never heard Sam like that. Sure, he knew that Sam and John rarely stood eye-to-eye any more, but he had never seen his brother hate something so fiercely, never.

"Sam, stop." John asked.

"Let me go! I hate you, I've always hated you. It's all your fault, everything. All the times we moved and everything you wouldn't let me do. What the hell is so important, more important than me?"

"Dean, come on, son." John's voice was calm over Sam's fighting.

He took a breath and walked towards Matt. The boy had returned to his normal appearance, save for the blood that darkened his shirt. He looked up at Dean with quiet desperation. Dean walked towards him and tried to ignore his brother's words.

"Please." Matt whispered, blood bubbled at his mouth. "Just end it."

Sam went still for a second. John's grip slacked slightly and Sam managed to get an arm free. He swung and caught John across the face. Sam ran to Matt's side and knelt at his friend's side.

Matt was pale. "You were my best friend ever, Sam." He whispered between short gasps for breath. "The only person who ever really listened to me."

Dean glanced over at his brother. "Sammy."

Sam shot a glare at his brother that meant death before he turned his attention back to Matt. "We'll get you fixed up."

"I can't live like this, Sam." He paused. "I killed people." His voice was hardly a whisper. "I'm not going to live with that."

It took Sam a second to realize that Matt was gone. He always thought that people closed their eyes when they died, always thought that…. Suddenly he realized how cold he was, how much his shoulder hurt. He staggered to his feet.

He felt John's hand on his shoulder and turned. "Don't touch me." His voice was low, dangerous, angry past yelling.

John helped Sam to his feet.

"I don't want your help." Sam pulled himself away and stumbled.

He wanted to run, but was too weary. The pain sharpened and he stood with his hands braced on his knees. Dean went to his brother's side.

"Sammy?"

He looked over at Dean, his eyes betrayed the anger and pain he was in. "You're always on his side."

"There was nothing we could do." He paused. "I'm sorry, Sam."

"And you're always sorry." He muttered.

Dean grabbed his brother's shoulder. "What do you need me to do, Sammy?"

"Go fuck yourself." He pulled away.

John stood for a few minutes, called the police about a boy who was attacked in the woods and turned to his boys. "Let's go home."

Dean tried to help Sam, but he just ducked away. The trek back through the woods was harder now that they all were exhausted and cold. Sam was glad that it was dark, that his sweatshirt was dark. He didn't want his brother and father to know about the blood that pulsed from his chest, didn't want them to know anything about him.

By the time the three arrived at the car, they were exhausted and half frozen. Sam climbed in back without a word. He sat with his arm folded across his chest and looked at the dark on the other side of the window. John looked in the mirror at his son before he pulled back onto the road.

The ride home was silent. Sam's breaths came in anger and pain restricted gasps. His jaw was set and his eyes were hard. They pulled up in front of the house.

"Dean, give us a few minutes." John said, he sounded tired.

Dean glanced back at Sam and slipped from the car.

Sam didn't move, kept his eyes on the window.

John looked up at his boy in the mirror. "I know you don't want to listen to me and I know you're angry. Sam, I am sorry that we couldn't help Matt."

"Didn't even try." Sam muttered.

"Because there was nothing we could do."

Sam felt tears burn at his eyes, but he forced them back. "I wish it would have been me you had to shoot. Make you understand the difference between doing nothing and not being able to do anything." He pulled open the door and fled from the car.

John took a few seconds to compose himself before he climbed from the car and trudged up the stairs.


	6. Acquiesce

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. Just a warning, Sam swears in this (and probably the next chapter or two). It's that angry 15 year old boy thing.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

John entered the small apartment and found the living room and kitchen empty. The doors to the bathroom and to Sam and Dean's room were closed. John dropped the bag by the door and shed his rain-soaked jacket. He pulled the bottle of Jack Daniels down and a couple of glasses. He eased into a kitchen chair and poured himself a glass.

Dean emerged from the bathroom and slipped into his room. John heard their muffled conversation behind the closed door. He didn't have any idea how to fix this, not a single one.

"That's not fucking likely, Sam." Dean stormed from the room and slammed the door.

He stopped when he saw John at the table. Without a word, he poured a drink for his son.

Dean stood with his hands gripped on the back of the chair. "Sam's hurt."

"How bad?" John looked up.

"Bad enough." He paused. "He won't let me do anything, took a swing at me."

John sighed and stood. He hated to do it, hated to do it now, but he was all out of options. It seemed to be a trend that night.

He knocked on the closed bedroom door. "Sam. Open the door." It was an order, hard and no options.

Sam pulled open the door. John saw how the front of his son's gray tee shirt, aside from being soaked with rain, was also soaked with a considerable amount of blood.

"Let me patch you up."

"No." His hands shook from pain.

"Fine." John knew that an argument would do nothing more than waste precious time. "I'll pour you a drink then, that's gotta hurt like a bitch."

Sam was conflicted with the offer. He knew it must be a trap somehow, but he was too tired to figure it out. John turned back to the kitchen. Sam stepped into the hall and watched.

John pulled down another glass. He snagged the first aid kit from the cupboard and slipped a bottle of pills from it without being seen by Sam. He dropped two pills in the bottom of the glass and drowned them in whisky. He topped off Dean's glass, turned, set the drinks on the table and sat back down. Dean saw the pills dissolve in the bottom of the glass that was set in front of Sam.

Dean sat down and took a drink, let the whisky burn on the way down and blur the details of the night.

John took a drink and gestured towards the third glass. "Have a seat, Sam."

Sam slid into the chair and picked up the glass. His shivered from cold and pain, his hand trembled around the glass. He had been invited in on the drinks only a time or two before. It had only been a swallow or two then, and celebratory. Dean's graduation and a party at Bobby's the summer after that. He had never been offered an entire glass before, a drink like one that Dean was always poured.

He picked up the glass and glanced up at his father before he remembered that he didn't give a shit what his father thought. Sam took a slow drink and felt it burn, wondered if he'd ever like it as much as his father and brother seemed to. He didn't cough though, like the first time.

"Let me get a look at that." John ventured.

Sam shook his head. "It's fine."

"Looks deep."

He glanced down at his blood soaked shirt and still felt the blood run warm down his front. "I'm fine." His voice shook.

John glanced over at Dean and he took his cue.

Dean shrugged. "Let me at least throw some gauze on it." He took another drink.

Sam's eyes moved from his father to his brother. For a second it looked like he might agree, but then he shook his head and took another drink.

The three sat around the table and drank, still wet and muddy. No words. John downed the rest of his and stood. He disappeared into his room and returned a few minutes later in clean, dry clothes.

"Dean, get changed."

Dean stood and left. Sam looked at his glass, still half to go.

"Wanna get changed?" John ventured.

"No." Sam's voice was rough. His head swam a little and he wondered if it was from the alcohol or the blood loss.

John tipped some more whiskey into his glass. "I'm proud of you, Sam. Doing everything for your friend like that."

Sam scoffed and took another drink, it was going down easier. Dean returned and sat in his chair. Sam finished the drink and tried to find the will to stand and retreat to his room. He felt dizzy and sick. He leaned forward and rested his elbow on the table, his head cupped in his palm. It was harder to stay awake, the pain less, even the cold was going away.

"Dean." John kept his eyes on Sam. "Grab some towels, throw them over the couch."

Dean stood and left the room. Sam blinked slowly and swallowed.

"You okay, Sam?" John asked.

Sam nodded.

John stood and knelt at Sam's side. He slipped his arm around his son's shoulder, felt the boy tense. "You're okay, Sammy."

"Hate you." His words were heavy and thick.

"I know."

John slowly eased Sam to his feet. The boy wavered and would have fallen if not for John's steady weight at his side. Dean spread the towels over the couch and John guided the boy over. He eased Sam back and pulled off the shirt. The gash on Sam's shoulder would need a stitch or two, just as John suspected.

"What are you doing?" He tried to focus, to bring the double images he saw into one again. "Let me go."

"Just close your eyes." John pulled a kitchen chair over.

Sam fought to stay awake. John eased his boy so he was lying down. Sam's eyes drifted closed and he let himself float in the weightlessness of unconsciousness.

"Dad." He word was quiet.

John brushed Sam's hair back as Dean brought the first aid kit over. "Sam."

"Still mad at you." His eyes blinked open, blurry and unfocused.

"I know."

Sam focused on what John was doing, saw the iodine and smelled the rubbing alcohol. He tried to sit up, but his body felt like it was filled with lead.

"No." He tried to struggle.

Dean, from somewhere above Sam's head, rested his hands on his little brother's shoulders and held him.

"It's okay, Sam." John cupped his son's face. "You're going to be okay."

A tear traced a path down Sam's cheek. "You killed him."

"Because he would have killed you."

Sam knew it meant something, gave him answers to the things he yelled in the woods, but the thoughts were too slow, too blurred by alcohol, pain and drugs. Sam blinked and fought sleep.

"Just rest, Sammy." Dean said from above him.

Sam tilted his head back to look at his brother. "On my side?" He was confused.

"Always, Sammy. Always."

Sam couldn't fight any longer and let his eyes slip closed. His breathing evened out and shallowed. John carefully cleaned and stitched up his son. He taped gauze over the gashes and tugged Sam's wet and muddy jeans from him.

"Should we take him to bed?" Dean kept his voice down even though there was a snowball's chance in hell of waking Sam.

"No." John sat back, let exhaustion wash over him. "Just grab a blanket and something for him to sleep in."

Dean stood and left the room. John stepped into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. He paused as he tried to remember something else he forgot. He gave up and returned to his boy's side. He carefully tipped some water into Sam's mouth and the boy convulsively swallowed.

"That's my boy." John brushed Sam's wet hair away from his face. "I'm sorry we couldn't save him, Sammy." He leaned forward and kissed Sam's forehead.

Dean returned with a blanket and sweatpants. He held the trashcan in his other hand. John then remembered what else he was going to grab from the kitchen. Sam never did do very well with that amount of pain pills, and the whisky on top of it would only make things worse. He hoped that Sam could sleep through the worst of it, but knew his boy well enough to know that it was only a wish.

Dean eased into a nearby chair and watched his brother sleep. Sam's face was pale and a little blood had soaked through the bandages. John pulled the blanket up, even asleep, Sam still shivered.

"Goodnight, Sammy.' John whispered as he ran his hand over Sam's cheek.


	7. Morning

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. Just a warning, Sam swears in this (and probably the next chapter or two). It's that angry 15 year old boy thing.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Dean had fallen asleep in the chair, he didn't intend to. John had eased back in the chair with his arms folded across his chest, his eyes on his son. Sam shifted and the blanket slid to the floor. John leaned forward and tucked it back around his boy's shoulders.

"How's he doing?" Dean sat forward.

John glanced over. "He'll be okay."

Sam shifted again and moaned slightly. The first thing he noticed was pain, tight across his chest. Both John and Dean's full attention was on Sam. His eyes slowly blinked open, his gaze still blurry from pills and pain. His head hurt from the whisky last night and he had lost enough blood that it would mess with him for a few days, he didn't realize that lying down though.

John stood and passed Dean. "Keep an eye on your brother." He muttered as he passed.

Dean moved to the chair that John had occupied. "How do you feel, Sammy?"

"Not so good." His words still slurred a little. "Dad?"

"Probably getting some sleep. He stayed up all night with you."

Sam painfully pushed himself up. Dizziness washed over him and he nearly blacked out.

Dean was at his side in a second to help. "Where are you going?"

He swallowed, the urge to vomit stronger now that he was sitting. "Bathroom."

Sam stood, pushed aside Dean's hand to help and slowly trudged down the hall. Dean heard the bathroom door slam and knew that Sam meant to slam it harder.

Sam leaned on the counter for a few seconds. He tried to swallow back the nausea, but ultimately failed. He dove for the toilet and felt the pain flair across his chest. He vomited and gripped the rim with sweat-slick hands. He was dizzy and pain consumed him. He stayed that way, trying to purge everything from his body, for close to an hour. Dean waited patiently outside the door and resisted the urge to go to his brother.

John came down the hall and saw Dean. "He okay?"

"Puked his guts out for the last hour."

John closed his eyes for a moment. "Make sure he drinks something."

Dean nodded.

He passed a bottle of pills to Dean. "Get him to take one of those."

"I will." Dean glanced over at him. "Get some sleep."

John rested his hand on his son's shoulder. "Let me know if anything happens." He passed Dean and stretched out on the couch. He could hear if Sam needed anything better from the living room.

Sam opened the door and leaned heavily on the doorframe. He was pale and shook. Dean went over and helped him into their room. John had spread a towel over Sam's pillow and moved the waist basket next to the bed. Sam sunk into the bed and tried to ignore the steady throb in his shoulder that tried to steal his breath.

"Here." Dean's voice was soft.

He opened his eyes and saw Dean hold out a glass of water and something else in his cupped palm. Sam did as he was told and hoped that the pill and water would stay down.

"Are we moving soon?" Sam's words were quiet and his eyes closed.

"Dad hasn't said anything. Why?"

Sam looked over at Dean. "I don't want to go back to that school." He whispered.

Dean sat on the edge of Sam's bed and gripped his little brother's shoulder. "You probably won't have to."

He nodded slightly and felt the pills start to take hold again.

"Before you sleep, drink some more." Dean pressed the glass into Sam's hand.

He took a few slow sips before Dean would take the glass back. He winced as he slid down in bed and sighed. Everything blurred and softened on the edges, he felt heavier and the pain faded some. Dean watched his brother's eyes drift shut and his breathing even in sleep.

Dean checked Sam's bandages and saw the bleeding had stopped and it didn't look infected. Sam shifted under the touch and Dean pulled the blanket up. He carefully moved to his bed and pulled out a classic car magazine to pass the time with.

Sam woke a few hours later. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was and why he felt like he did. He shifted and sat up a little.

"You okay, Sammy?"

He looked over at Dean and shrugged. Dean went to his brother's side. Sam was still pale, but his eyes were a little glassy. Dean wasn't sure if that was pain pills or something else. Sam pulled away from the hand that his brother rested on his forehead.

"Seem a little warm there, Sammy."

He shrugged. "I'm fine, and it's Sam." He muttered.

"Still." Dean looked at his brother for a moment before he left the room.

Sam pressed his hand to his forehead and didn't think he felt warm, though it would explain why the room seemed unusually cold. He tugged the blankets up higher and slumped back into the pillow. The pills were still making him feel tired and like everything was in slow motion in a thick fog. The hangover, well it felt like a hangover. Dean returned with the thermometer and handed it to his brother. Sam shot him a look, but placed it under his tongue anyway. Dean kept one eye on his brother and one on his watch. After a few minutes he took the thermometer and read the number.

"Well?" Sam was too tired to try and read the expression in Dean's eyes.

"High enough that I'm going to make you take something for it, not high enough to worry."

He nodded, took the pills Dean handed him and let himself drift back to sleep. Sam slept most of the day and he was pretty much okay with that. The only problem was the time or two that he woke from a nightmare, always the same one, always with Matt dying in front of him.

It was from that nightmare that woke him again. He expected Dean to be there, like he had been all day, but John sat at the bedside instead. Sam glanced over and immediately his jaw was set in anger. Without a word John handed his son a glass of water and a small handful of pills. Sam had half a mind not to take them, but the sharp pain in his shoulder and the aches from his fever told him otherwise.

They both just sat there in silence for a while. Sam fought against the pull of the medication as it tried to drag him back into sleep.

"We need to have a talk, Sam." John's tone wasn't anything other than sorry.

"No, we don't." Sam muttered.

John took a breath and leaned forward in the chair. "I want you to understand something, Sammy."

Sam turned away, tried to focus his gaze on the ceiling.

"If there was any other way to help Matt, I would have in a second. You have to believe me on that. I know it doesn't seem right or fair, but-"

Sam cut him off, his words hard. "You're damn right it isn't fair." He turned to his dad, angry tears threatened in his fevered eyes. "What about all the time that he was just like me? Doesn't that count for anything? You condemn him to death for one night that he can't do anything about."

"I know, Sam."

"No, you don't know. You never bothered to know. He was just another thing that needed to be killed. I was going to help him, but you never gave me the chance, never game him the chance." His words slurred some as the medication took a stronger hold. "You killed him, didn't even try…" He swallowed.

"I did try." John met his son's eyes. "But that all changed when he was going to kill you."

"He wasn't going to kill me." Sam knew he was wrong, but he didn't want to admit that. Not even to himself.

John rested his hand on Sam's arm. "I've been doing this a long time, Sammy, I know when I can help things and when I can't. I never wanted to hurt that boy, I don't care if you believe me, but I just wanted you to know."

"Don't believe you." Sam was fighting sleep with everything in him.

"It doesn't matter." John gently squeezed Sam's arm. "You know, and that's enough."

Sam's eyes slipped closed. "Still hate you." He whispered before he sunk back into sleep.

John sighed and leaned back in the chair.

"You ever going to try and talk to him when he isn't drugged?" Dean smirked from the doorway.

"Right now, I think that's the only way we can." John watched his youngest sleep.


	8. Leaving

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for the reviews. Sam's still angry and hurt, the next chapter should be the end, just a little more trauma and maybe an argument/discussion between Sam and John yet to come.

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Sam woke to dark and Dean's breathing from across the room. His shoulder throbbed with pain close to what it felt like when the injury was only hours old. He shifted and tried to find a comfortable position, but the movement only made the pain worse. For a second, he thought about waking his brother, but pushed that thought aside. He was fifteen, he could take care of himself.

Slowly he pushed his battered body from the mattress and sat up. The room spun lazily around him and he gripped the edge to keep from falling. His jaw was clenched in an attempt to keep the pain back. His breath caught and he closed his eyes for a moment. With a groan he pushed himself to his feet and aimed towards the door. He gripped the doorframe to keep from falling. He paused as he tried to remember where the pain pills were; bathroom or kitchen. The bathroom was a hell of a lot closer than the kitchen was.

He paused in the bathroom doorway and didn't see the bottle lying out, it would still be out on the counter. Nobody in their family was much for putting things away, their style was more to leave things in the open so they could be easily grabbed. It would have been so much easier to be in the bathroom. Sam took a breath and hoped he would survive the trip to the kitchen.

By the time he sunk into a chair, the room was spinning with the persistence of a carnival ride and the pain in his shoulder was blinding. He gripped the edge of the table as he tried to focus the pain away. His knuckles were white from the effort. He saw the bottle of pills on the counter, but the effort of standing and walking to them seemed too much. He was so focused on the pain, on controlling the pain that he didn't hear his father's footsteps behind him.

John filled a glass of water and grabbed the bottle of pills from the counter. He sat down across from his son in the dark kitchen.

He dumped out a pill and slid it and the water to his boy. "You should have woken Dean."

Sam looked at the pill on the table. "I can take care of myself." The words were harder than Sam intended.

"I know, but help is all right too."

Sam took the pill and slowly drank the water. "Can we move?"

John had never heard his son ask to move, never. He had asked, begged, bargained to stay, but never to leave.

"Sure, Sammy."

Sam traced the pattern in the fake wood top of the table. "Tomorrow?" He looked up and met his dad's eyes for the first time in longer than John cared to recall.

"You still need time to rest." John glanced back at the bottle of pills. "You can hardly make it to the kitchen on your own."

"Well, I'm not the one driving." He muttered, his eyes back on the table. "So you don't have to worry about me screwing that up."

"Sam, you didn't-"

He looked up, his eyes smoldered with anger, hurt. "I don't want to live here any more. So either we leave, or I leave."

"You can't run from things, Sam."

Sam stood suddenly, his hands flat on the table. "Don't tell me what I need to do. I'm not your brainwashed soldier, I'm not Dean and I'm not like you." He winced, nearly fell.

John stood cautiously, ready to catch Sam if it should come to that. "Okay. We'll pack in the morning, be on the road by noon."

Sam nodded, suddenly weary as the medication and his own exhaustion. He felt his knees give and John reached forward and caught his son under the arms. Sam sucked in breath as his shoulder was moved, black spots of pain danced across his vision. John felt the slight heat of Sam's fever still, but knew his boy would hold true to his threat. He'd rather be with his son than have Sam hitchhiking hurt and sick.

"You're going to be okay, Sam." John kept his voice low as he guided his son back to the room.

"Hurts." He winced. He wasn't sure if he was talking about his shoulder or about what happened.

"I know." John eased Sam back into bed. "But that will get better, too. Get some sleep."

John stayed at his son's side until Sam's eyes closed heavy with sleep.

--

John woke Dean not long after seven. Sam was still asleep with the help of the pills, the blanket twisted around his legs and his hair damp with sweat. Dean sat up and automatically looked over at his brother.

"Dean, pack your things." John kept his voice low to keep from waking Sam.

"What?" He shoved the blankets back and grabbed a shirt off the floor.

John met Dean's eyes. "We're heading out today."

Dean glanced from John to Sam. "Want me to wake him?"

He turned to his son. "Not yet."

"I'm going to grab a shower."

John nodded and left the room. Dean looked over at Sam. On his way from the room he brushed his hand across his younger brother's forehead, still felt the fever and wondered what their dad was thinking.

John and Dean spent the day packing up the things they needed, it never took very long. Neither cared much for folding clothes and other than clothes and a few books, they didn't have much else to pack.

"I'm going to take these bags down to the car, get your brother ready." John grabbed a few of the bags that waited by the door.

Dean slipped back into his room. Most everything had been stripped from the bed, the walls, the drawers. A pair of well warn jeans, a button front shirt and a zip front sweatshirt sat on Dean's empty bed for Sam.

He sat on the edge of Sam's bed. "Sam, Sammy." He gently touched his brother's shoulder.

Sam's eyes blinked open, still blurred with pain and drugs. He looked around the room. "Time to go?"

"Yeah." Dean stood and grabbed the clothes. "You need me to help you get changed?"

Sam shook his head and painfully sat up. Dean paused and left the room. He stood in the hall, the bedroom door still open in case Sam still needed him. Sam slowly stood and slipped out of the sweatpants. The effort made him dizzy as he pulled on the jeans. Using his arm cause pain to shoot through his chest and he hoped his dad hadn't packed up the pills. He slipped on the button shirt and didn't bother with the buttons.

Dean glanced back in the room. Sam sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his face pale and his hair damp with sweat.

"Could you, could you get the buttons?" He asked in a low voice.

Dean buttoned his brother's shirt and brushed back the memory of a younger Sam that surfaced. He smiled a little to himself and helped Sam into the sweatshirt.

"It's cold out. Here." Dean held out a pill and a glass of water.

"Thanks." Sam took the pill and swallowed it with a small sip of water.

"You need to drink more."

Sam shook his head. Dean shoved the sweatpants into the top of a full duffel and tugged the zipper shut. He hoisted it over his shoulder.

Dean looked at his brother and knew his brother well. "You don't feel well enough to travel, do you?"

"I'll sleep in the car." He tried to stand.

Dean took his brother's arm and helped him. "That didn't answer my question."

"If I drink more water I'll puke in the car, you know that as well as I do." Sam met his brother's eyes as he was led down the hall.

By the time Sam had slumped into the backseat he was exhausted and his shoulder throbbed. Dean tossed a blanket and pillow in the back with his brother and climbed in the front seat. John slammed the trunk closed and climbed behind the wheel.


	9. Mourning

Still don't own Supernatural. Not suing would be appreciated. I have no money, I promise, so please just let me use the brilliant characters.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. I hope this upheld the weighty category standards of Sam angst. 

Sam is 15, and Dean is 19

-/\-SN-/\-

Dean tossed a bottle of water in the backseat next to Sam. He leaned against the window, his arm held protectively across his chest, his eyes blearily focused on the houses and yards the they drove past. Every now and then, John would glance up in the mirror at his youngest.

They pulled into a gas station. John opened his door. "I need coffee. You boys need anything?"

Sam didn't answer and Dean suggested something for breakfast. John glanced back at his sons before he went into the convince store. Sam sighed and looked out the window. It took him a few seconds to realize what was happening across the street.

He pushed open the door and climbed from the car.

"Sam?" Dean was out of the car and around to his brother in the time that it took Sam to climb out and close the door. "Sam."

Sam swallowed, his eyes fixed on the event across the street. Dean turned and for a second his breath caught in his lungs. Across the street was a cemetery and under the hundred-year-old oaks and between perfect lines of headstones, was the funeral of Matthew Olsen.

Dean turned to his brother. Sam's face was white, his hands shook at his sides as he leaned against the car, his eyes were fixed on the small gathering.

He swallowed and glanced over at his older brother. "I wonder what his mom's thinking." Sam's voice was husky and quiet.

"It wasn't your fault."

"You didn't answer my question." Sam whispered.

Dean almost smiled a little. "I don't know what she's thinking, but I know it isn't your fault, none of it."

"I know." He didn't sound believable.

Dean slipped his arm around his brother's shoulders and felt him shiver slightly. Sam leaned against him and closed his eyes for a moment. John came back to the car and saw his boys. Dean glanced over at him.

"Dean, climb in." John passed him the coffee and donuts.

"I don't want to talk to you." Sam muttered as Dean walked to the other side of the car.

"Maybe not, but I want to talk to you." John rested his hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam didn't duck away like John expected.

"I did what I did because I couldn't stand to lose you, or your brother."

Sam looked up at him. "So, letting another parent lose her son is okay, as long as it's not yours." The words were bitter, hard.

"No, but you are always my first priority."

"Why are you telling me this?" He ducked from under John's hand and winced as the pain flared again. "It doesn't mean anything."

"You need to hear it." He paused. "Almost as much as you need to get in the car."

Sam scoffed a little. "And we're back to orders. Get in the car, take point, kill your friend." His voice broke on the last word.

"Sam."

He pulled open the door, ignored the pain that ripped across his chest and climbed into the car. He tugged the blanket up to try and stop his shivering and leaned against the window.

Dean turned. "Sammy."

"I'm tired, Dean."

John climbed into the car and they pulled away. Sam kept his eyes on Matt's mom until they turned towards the highway and he lost sight of her. It didn't take long for the combination of the car on the highway and the medication to pull him into sleep.

"Just give him space, dad." Dean glanced back at his brother.

John sighed. "And then he disappears, more than he already has."

"He's just trying to find his own way, like always."

"I know that, but it doesn't help me or him." John glanced at Sam.

"How far are we going?" Dean changed the direction of the conversation.

"Probably look for a motel around five or so. Find a place for a few days, let him rest."

"He'll be okay."

John looked over at Dean. "I hope so."

Sam muttered something in his sleep and pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders. He slept for most of the drive aside for the few minutes he was awake when Dean force-fed him pain pills, water and a quarter of a sandwich.

John pulled into the space in front of a faded, blue motel door. It had become clear that even though Sam was asleep, he was exhausted from traveling. John climbed out and opened the trunk for the bags they needed. Dean opened Sam's door and gently woke his brother. Sam's eyes drifted open, he was still out of it from the last dose a few hours ago. Dean carefully slid his arm under Sam's and helped his brother from the car.

"Dean?" The word was soft, slurred.

"Yeah, Sammy."

"Where's dad?"

John came to Sam's other side. "I'm right here, Sammy."

Dean slid his arm out as John took Sam's weight. Dean grabbed the bag and headed for the room.

"Here tonight?" Sam asked.

"For a few days."

Sam blinked, tried to make sense of it as he was guided towards the room. "New job?" His shoulder hurt.

"Not yet, haven't even looked." John eased Sam onto a bed and leaned him back into the pillows.

"Why?"

Dean sat at Sam's side and slipped off his shoes. "For being so smart, you sure are asking a lot of dumb questions."

Sam held up three fingers. "Read between the lines, Dean."

John ran his fingers through Sam's hair, felt for fever. "Just rest, Sam."

Sam couldn't have kept his eyes open if he wanted to. Once he was asleep, John checked the bandages and dabbed peroxide over the stitches. Sam shifted slightly, his brow furrowed as it stung. Dean took his brother's hand as John bandaged the wounds again.

"I think his fever broke." Dean looked up at his father.

John nodded. "That's good." He stood. "I'll bring back something for dinner." And then he left.

Sam rolled to his side, drew his knees in towards his chest. Dean pulled the blanket over his brother and sat next to him on the bed. John dropped off dinner for Dean, and Sam if he was awake and hungry, before he mentioned something about a job or a bar, Dean was a little fuzzy on the details. It didn't really matter which, he knew that John needed time to straighten everything out so that when Sam started to ask the questions coherently, he'd have an answer, even if it wasn't the right one, it'd be one he could defend.

Dean had flipped through the limited channels a handful of times before he stopped on some lame, made-for-tv, horror movie. He kept the volume low. Sam shifted and muttered something in a dream, which sounded more like a nightmare to Dean so he rested his hand on his brother's arm.

"Dean?" It was tentative, unsure.

He switched off the movie. "Yeah, Sammy."

Sam carefully rolled to his back and pushed himself up against the pillows.

"Your shoulder okay?"

Sam nodded, his eyes focused somewhere past the end of the bed. "I can't make it stop." He whispered.

"Make what stop?"

Sam looked away, his jaw set.

"Sammy?"

His breath hitched followed by an almost choked back sob.

Dean put his arm around Sam's shoulder. "Hey, you're all right."

"I keep seeing him die." He whispered between shaky breaths. "And I think I should have done something more. Research or something, anything. I did nothing and it killed him. I killed him."

"No, you didn't. You wouldn't." Dean closed his eyes for a second before he pulled Sam closer. "And I don't believe that you did for a second."

"I'm sorry." His words soft, sorry for everything he had ever done.

"I know you are, Sammy. I know."

"If I had seen it sooner, put it together…I didn't want to." Sam leaned his head against Dean's shoulder. "I wanted everything to be okay and it never is."

"I know." Dean wished there was something else, anything else that he could say, but there wasn't. None of his big brother wisdom could fix this.

They stayed that way for a while, Sam under the protection of Dean's arms as he tried to choke back tears. Finally Sam pushed away, his eyes weary and empty, ashamed.

"How about some dinner, then we'll drug you up good, and try to find something worth watching on one of the crap channels."

Sam almost smiled, maybe, and nodded. Dean glanced over at him before he found half a peanut butter sandwich and a Styrofoam cup of chicken broth. Sam ate most of it, more than he had in a few days and Dean traded him for a glass of water and a pain pill.

Dean leaned back against the headboard, Sam next to him, slouched down so his head was resting against his older brother's shoulder. Dean found a movie that wasn't half bad, like he promised.

"Hey, Sam?" He was seeing if his kid brother was still awake.

"Yeah?" He was almost asleep.

"You know tomorrow's gonna be better, right?"

Sam shifted, his breath caught as he moved his shoulder too much. "Really?" He was asking honestly.

"Yeah, at least a little."

"Okay." Sam believed him, he had to if he was going to keep going.

John came back about an hour after Sam had fallen asleep. He looked at his boys, his eyes lingered on Sam. Dean carefully slid out from under his brother and eased him onto a pillow. Sam shifted, but didn't wake. Dean went over to John.

"How's he doing?" John went to the bar, only had one drink and spent the rest of the time walking, thinking, trying to figure it out, trying to remember how to be the dad that used to make Sam smile again.

"Better." Dean glanced back. "He is going to be okay."

"You'd tell me if he wasn't."

Dean nodded. "Yeah, but he will be."

John walked over and gently sat next to Sam on the bed, Dean on the other side and Sam between them. He carefully brushed Sam's hair away from his face. "Then maybe we all will be." He whispered, mostly to Sam. He knew it couldn't ever be like it was when both boys were younger, innocent, unaware. He knew that he and Sam wouldn't ever be like he and Dean, and that worried him.

But just as long as Sam was all right, Sam and Dean, that's all that really mattered in the end.


End file.
